


They call to me, the stars and the sea

by Euphoriette



Category: Homestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 04:18:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14584788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euphoriette/pseuds/Euphoriette
Summary: au where gamzee becomes a horrorterror at the end





	They call to me, the stars and the sea

Gamzee surfaces out of the fridge, taking deep gasping breaths, wiping his mouth of blood, stain, and sweat, drinking in the sea air. Getting his bearings, he tries to focus, but his thinkpan is addled, he can’t see clearly, and _why does his head hurt so motherfucking much_?

“Motherfuck”, Gamzee mutters. Gasping, he slaps his hand over his mouth. his voice is deeper, raspier. 

He tries saying a few words, testing out his tongue. He runs his hand up his face and brings it away, thick with dirt. He’s absolutely _filthy_. His breath is sour on his too-long chipped teeth, his hair is practically marinating in grime, and his claws are cracked and yellow. Gamzee grimaces and is overcome with the strong urge to take a bath.

Splashing water over his face, wanting to be a least a tad bit less disgusting, Gamzee rubs his eyes, finally clearing the cobwebs away and looks around.

He’s on top of the fridge, drifting away in an ocean, no shore to be seen. All he can see for miles and miles is seawater and salt, waves gently carrying him to an unknown destination. Gamzee’s pusher turns to ice, and drops down, freezing him hopeless from the inside out.

How long has it been? How long has he wasted away in that fridge? His lungs had already stopped working, stomach rotted away, heart slowed to an impossibly slow, quiet beat.

Like the impossibly slow, quiet thrum of war drums carried on the wind. 

Gamzee lays down on the fridge, resigning himself to whatever fate may come his way. He’s never really cared much about anything, he lets his battles choose him. He’s just that kind of troll.

His eyes close, heavy like stone, syrupy darkness weighing him down, and he’s gone.

In seconds, minutes, years and lifetimes, all of a sudden, he’s come back to life all over again and he’s floating. He’s weightless like an angel, glowing strangely, like he’s been elevated to a higher plane of existence. The space around him is infinite and beautiful, the space between universes, galaxies, planets, everything. Swirling with color, breathtaking and cold like aurora lights, yet somehow warm and comforting, like Gamzee belongs here. This place is made of everything, anything, and nothing, a dome of immortality.

Gamzee finds his bearings, and swims in the infiniteness surrounding him, to his brothers behind him. He hears the call and heeds it.

Turning, like a compass needle to a magnet, Gamzee sees _them_.

They are nighttime, ethereal, and endless. Swirls of pitch-black curl outward and everywhere, great eyes, gleaming like moons, reflect an unseen light. Huge and imposing, they stare down at Gamzee, but it isn’t harsh. It’s more like the stare you would get after seeing someone you care about that you haven’t seen in a long time. They look at Gamzee like they have known him since he was pupated, and Gamzee isn’t unnerved. He has a feeling he knows them too, but he just can’t place it.

But then, all at once, it comes back to him. Shot in chest, stabbed, cut down the dotted line, locked away and left to rot.

He never dies, no.

Gamzee just _transcends_.

He rises amongst his brethren, they rise with him, and he waxes and wanes like the moon and the tides. He’s more than flesh, blood and bone. He’s made of shadows, dreams, and power, he is nighttime, ethereal and endless. Eyes reflecting the light of novas, flashing darkly and strange.

He’s everything in between, the space between souls that shifts with time, sand in the hourglass, still as death, and alive as a heart. Beating, like the impossibly slow, quiet thrum of war drums carried on the wind.

Gamzee sneers down at the world beneath him, his kin are rats in the maze of Gamzee’s power. Just for the fun of it, Gamzee lets out a loud honk, mirthful and terrifying. It’s judgement day motherfuckers, are you ready?

Every single tiny life, little grubling, barely crawling, dies instantly. The rats scream, wailing, crying and Gamzee laughs and laughs and laughs.

He hears his true kin beckon to him, and he’s done playing with the mice, bored already with his playthings, he’s had his fun.

So, Gamzee turns, to his own clown congregation, his own freak circus. He’s one with his family of monsters, and dream wraiths, and he disappears into the swirling, sparking darkness.

Voodoo magic splinters and explodes like fireworks, welcoming the king to his realm. His throne awaits.

The glow in the distance swallows him, stars and light lifting him up and he’s gone.


End file.
